Living Happiness

I read a blog the other day that asked the question: who is your reader? It went on to narrow that question down: whom do you write for or, better yet, whom do you live for? I feel like I can truthfully say that I live for myself. But whom do I write for? Ah! The answer to that question is easy: my fiancé.

I don’t sit down to write with G in mind. But most posts have to pass the ‘G Test’ before they go up. I can tell when something resonates with him or when it doesn’t. And since G is just your typical person, and most assuredly your typical male, I figure he’s a good measure to go by … most of the time, anyway.

G often discriminates between my posts as (and these are official terms) ‘Preachy Ones’ and ‘Stories About You.’ He is a big fan of the Stories About You and starts squirming on the Preachy Ones. (In fact, this is how I can usually tell I’ve been too preachy).

So, today I am just going to tell you that I am having a rough time of it, and trying quite hard to keep my optimism. You see, I am returning to the States in three weeks for the first time in three years. To say that I am nervous is an understatement. I experienced reverse culture shock when I was a 20-year-old college student returning from a semester abroad, and it was enough to have me depressed for about three months. What in the world is it going to be like for me to return after three years!

But I’m sure I’ll float with that just fine, really. Three months in the States will fly by, and those 12 weekends will all pass very quickly when I am trying desperately to see so many people I haven’t hugged and laughed with in so long. In this regard, I’ll be okay.

It’s the accommodation during my stay that has upset me. I had made arrangements in December to stay with a friend. But, alas, that has fallen through and, with it, my home for the summer. Now, in the eleventh hour I am hitting up everyone I know about cheap accommodation during my 3-month sojourn. Unfortunately, my parents’ home is not an option. Like the person who keeps walking into the same open manhole, I fell again into the trap of thinking my parents might be willing and able to help. I was sorely (yes, it hurt!) mistaken.

I do believe that all things happen for a reason, though. There’s a part of me that keeps saying, “Even when a door closes, it’s probably because that door leads into a room it would be better not to enter.” My head knows this. But my heart hurts and my spirit is anxious.

I am believing one of these doors will open soon … I’ll even “settle” for a window.

Looking forward to hearing from you,